So Many Lives
by Omnuscraft
Summary: A retelling of the events surrounding the Midwestern town of Raccoon City. Told through five main POV characters starting just days before September 22nd, 1998. Learn who they are and what drives each of them individually to survive before, during, and after one of the most famous locations in Resident Evil.
1. Prologue

**Hey everybody. This story was written as a side project and was inspired by the reset release of Resident Evil 7. A lot of research has gone into creating this new story into the Resident Evil universe. It features a lot of different characters with separate storylines set in the same place and time. It is written in the same style as A Song of Ice and Fire, with chapters involving one major character at a time. Some of their respective storylines may intersect, some may not.**

 **If you're here from Who Am I and are following me, please take note that Who Am I is not over and has not ended. I will address my absence in a future Who Am I chapter. This was just something I wanted to write while I took a break from writing fantasy.**

 **I hope you enjoy and don't forget to comment.**

"We're lost," she said in that soft, irritated tone that seemed to grow more and more pronounced the closer they seemed to get to their destination. It was like radar; the closer they got the quieter and more irritated she sounded to the point where you could barely hear her over the sound of the booming radio.

Reaching out, he turned down the volume on the car stereo until it was just a dull whisper. He looked at her and frowned. He knew she was right but he kind of wished they could stay lost. The moment they saw the 'Welcome to Missouri' sign, she had gotten like this. The letter from her mom, probably no more than thirty words, max, indicated she needed to come home and say goodbye to her grandmother.

Sure, she wanted to see her grandparents and her dad but her mom she definitely could do without.

"We're not lost," he mumbled back, looking down at the map spread across the center console between them. He could hear her scoff, but he wasn't gonna let it get to him. She was under enough stress as it was and being in this car with an AC that only half worked with seats that weren't what anyone would call luxurious.

She had slipped her sandals off and had her feet dangling out of the window and was propped up on an elbow. She just stared out of the windshield with a blank stare to her face. Occasionally, the wind from the open window would occasionally tousle her long red hair. She didn't seem to notice more often than not. She toyed with the pack of cigarettes in her pocket, wondering if lighting one would make her feel any better.

"We need to stop to ask for directions," she mumbled again.

"Emily, we're not lost," he said, now getting frustrated.

"Then I have to pee," she said, looking out the window. Maybe getting mad at him would make her feel better. She doubted it. Emily was a tall, well defined woman. Well, some people might not even call her a woman. She had just turned twenty-one not even three months ago, and hadn't yet decided to act her age, not her shoe size. She was…average. Average height and weight, average heights, with her most striking features being her long hair and eyes, but when they were pointed out, she would just laugh and say the makeup and shampoo-conditioner combination did most of the work. Not just that, but everything else about her average too. Average grades, average car, and average life. Her mom would say she should be thankful for what she has, but the expensive shoes and clothes, furniture and makeup said otherwise.

He, on the other hand, most people would say was out of her league. Emily was ugly, far from it, but the man currently driving the late model Sonata wasn't exactly a looker. A few days on the road from California with only a few stops to rest in between hadn't done him any favors. Pudgy around the middle, glasses and a 5 o'clock shadow that started showing at 2 PM.

"Alright," he said looking down at the map next to them sighing heavily as some of the longer parts of his dark brown hair fell over his eyes. He would occasionally glance up at the road in front of him.

"I don't…" he mumbled, looking back up the road, tracing the map with a pointer finger.

She huffed waited for him to figure it out. After a minute of him mumbling to himself, she looked up at him, "Tyler, just admit it, we're lost."

"We're not lost, Em," he replied softly.

She looked up at the nearest road sign, peering out over the side of the road. She quickly drew her legs in the car and sat up, "Hey, look, Raccoon City, next exit."

He looked up but the sign was already gone. Flicking on the blinker, he began to pull over to change lanes into the exit lane. He smiled over at Em who looked at him and gave only a half smile back. He reached out and laced his fingers with hers on her closest hand.

"Love you," he said.

She hesitated for a moment but knew he would get upset if she didn't say it back. It's not that she didn't mean it, she just wasn't' in the mood. She had preferred the sign say St. Louis.

"Love you too."

He cruised along the highway until he came closer to the exit. He applied pressure to the brakes as he came to a stoplight.

"Have you ever heard if this place?" Tyler asked.

Emily shook her head, "Nope."

"Well, you lived here a long time, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't spend too much time outside of St. Louis," she said.

"I wonder how far away from the city we are," he mumbled.

She shrugged but was now sitting up on the seat with her shoulders back, looking left to right down the street they had just turned on. It was a quaint, unassuming town that you'd expect to find in the Midwest. She really hoped that was a good sign. Maybe Raccoon City was a suburb of St. Louis and they were really close?

"Find a gas station and some grub," she said.

"Good idea," he said.

It was a very normal town. She was surprised by just how normal it was. Teenagers were yelling in front of a shop back and forth, trying to impress each other by doing tricks on their skateboards on the curb, there was a couple walking a Doberman near a gun shop with a big sign over the door that said 'Kendo'. Tyler pulled the Sonata into a gas station. They both got out of the car, Emily taking a moment to slip her sandals on her feet.

"I'm gonna go ask directions from the clerk," she said.

He followed her into the gas station, the little bell above the door tinkling softly as they entered. Tyler quickly started to make his way towards the candy as Emily walked straight for the counter. She pulled down her tank top that had ridden up in the car and stuffed as much of her hands as she could into her daisy dukes. The attendant looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

"Help you, miss?" he said with a gentle smile.

"We're looking for Interstate 70. We're trying to get to St. Louis," she said.

The attendant visibly winced, "You're on the wrong side of the state. Interstate 70 is just outside of town, if you take the road just outside and hang a right and just follow it, but you're probably four or five hours out of St. Louis."

She sighed and was not looking forward to another several hours in the car, "Alright. Can I get a fill up on two?" she asked pulling out a small wallet from her back pocket. Tyler came up a moment later with a handful of candy bars and a newspaper.

"I got it, babe," he said, paying the clerk and exiting the gas station.

"Huh," Tyler said.

"What?" Emily asked, looking to see what he was staring at.

"Raccoon City, home of Umbrella," Tyler said, "I've heard of them, huge pharmaceutical company."

"Yeah," she said, reaching into the bag and taking out one of the candy bars. "The clerk said it was going to be another four or five hours to St. Louis."

"So we're probably closer to Kansas City," he said, getting into the driver's seat of the Sonata.

"What do you wanna do?" she asked as he pulled out the newspaper.

"Well," he said, glancing over the news paper, "First, real food. There's some place called Burger Kong we can check out."

"That sounds horrible," she said and Tyler nodded with a smile. He continued to look over the paper as the attendant came out to pump their gas.

"Are you up for driving there for four or five hours?" he asked, and the way he asked said that he was hoping she didn't.

Emily sighed and shook her head, "I kind of wanna just turn around and go home. Y'know? I don't really wanna sit in this car for hours all over again."

Tyler became quiet as he became engrossed in an article he was reading in the paper. She waited for a reply, and then peered to see what he was looking it but very quickly lost interest. "Is there anywhere we can stay?" she asked.

Still, he was engrossed in the article he was reading, his eyes scanning back and forth over the paper.

"I kinda wanna fuck you in the car while the attendant watches," she said, hoping that would get his attention, but it seemed the article was more interesting than sex. She reached out and flicked the newspaper, causing to make that loud pop noise.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, babe, I was reading this thing," he said.

"What about?" she asked, scooting closer and leaning against his arm to follow along.

"Where did it…here it is. Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. officers suspended indefinitely after making wild and unfounded accusations about there being monsters and people coming back from the dead in the Arklay Mountains surrounding Raccoon City. Police Chief Brian Irons said that Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, most notable of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service members would be suspended pending a full investigation of what took place between July twenty-third and twenty-fourth at the Spencer Estate. Police Chief Irons said that the officers involved would be held accountable to the ludicrous accusations against Umbrella. The Police Chief also said that the efforts of the fire fighters who lost their lives in the forest fire resulting from S.T.A.R.S. gross negligence would be posthumously rewarded."

The whole story made the hairs on the back of Emily's neck stand up. She wasn't the biggest fan of cops and the whole thing stank to her. Then again, everything government and police related stank to her. She'd had her run ins with the law during many teenage adventures trying to rebel against her mother's strict upbringing.

"The Spencer Estate…" Tyler started again.

"That's enough," she said. "C'mon, I'm starving, can we go? Maybe we can find a cheap motel for the night and leave in the morning."

Tyler nodded and waved at the attendant as he finished up, starting the Sonata.

"Hey, what's today?" Emily asked.

"Saturday." Tyler said, pulling out of the gas station and turning down the street.

"No, the date, "Emily asked, looking at the newspaper.

The top of the newspaper said September 19th, 1998. She sighed and rolled up the newspaper and shoved it into the plastic bag from the gas station. Tyler would take forever to find a motel because he never stopped to ask for directions.

 ** _Raccoon City._**

 ** _Population: 100,000+_**

 ** _72:00 until viral outbreak._**


	2. Blake 1

_**71:00 until viral outbreak**_

He didn't like this. No, he didn't like this one bit. It was evident by the constant scratching at his scruffy cheek. It he did it any harder or longer, he'd wear a hole in his face. He shifted in his seat and looked down at the papers on the small desk in front of him. The voice of the chief was a droning hum at this point.

Sure, he could get into putting up the roadblocks into the Arklay mountains. After the fire, who wouldn't? It was dangerous enough out there as it was with whatever freaky weirdo's were wandering the forest and eating people; they didn't need conspiracy nuts trying to get a peek at the Spencer estate. That was normal and the day the chief ordered the roadblocks put up, Officer Blake Jones wondered why it hadn't been done sooner.

Then there was the canning of S.T.A.R.S. Sure, they screwed up, people died, they were making up some wild stories and accusations and excuses, but they were disbanded and not, oh, I don't know, arrested for some gnarly misconduct. So why did it feel like they were being punished for what they were saying and not what they were accused of doing? Blake figured the chief knew best and thought that was the best way to handle it. What was left of S.T.A.R.S. were still good cops. They had to have a second chance, right?

Then there was the swift response from Umbrella. We're talking helicopters, guys in suits, attack dogs, search lights, the whole nine yards. Why was there such a major response to a seemingly innocent mansion in the middle of bum fuck nowhere? Nobody was allowed up there anymore, not even cops, and the roadblock was their idea. Black SUVs were going back and forth day and night now, and it seemed every Umbrella employee was liable to wet his pants at any moment.

We're not done, folks. Now, Officer Blake was sitting in the conference room of the Raccoon Police Department with probably thirty other cops were just eating this garbage up like it was gospel passed on down from on high. Blake was a veteran of the force for thirty some years now. Dozens of arrests, more busts than you can shake a stick at, and this still felt wrong on so many levels. Call it cop sense or whatever, Officer Blake Jones felt like he was playing for the wrong team for the first time in his long career.

Chief Irons, big dog in the house, was up front saying how we needed to stop travel into and out of Raccoon City until the S.T.A.R.S. investigation could be concluded and everyone could go back to their lives. This was just the icing on the cake.

Something was really, really wrong.

Blake wasn't a small man. He was pushing six and a half feet easily with dark skin, dark eyes, and grey and black fuzz peppering most of his face. Even so, Chief Irons was just as big if not bigger so nobody spoke up against who loony these orders sounded. Blake, though, was off in his own world and only half listening.

Basically it could be summed up at that the Chief wanted to close all traffic into and out of the city until Umbrella was done with their job and something could be done about the remaining S.T.A.R.S. officers. Blake wondered if maybe S.T.A.R.S. were the ones who really knew what was up at this point and the rest of them were the ones who were crazy.

The chief also ordered ammo and weapon caches to be spread all around the R.P.D. to set up for any riots that might take place, giving the officers more access to firepower if they needed it. Okay, what the hell. This just gets more and more crazy, how was everyone supposed to remember where all their crap was if some kind of revolt did break up? Better yet, what was stopping the bad guys from getting to the good stuff if they found it?

Officer Blake looked around the room, though, and saw that most everyone was dumbly nodding like this was the greatest plan in the world.

It wasn't until most everyone had left the room that Blake felt a sharp pain in his ear and hissed, pulling away from his attacker, and looking up to see that everyone had gone, save for Tony from K9 and Elliot from patrol. Tony was a gaunt, skinny guy who really was at home with the dogs and Elliot was a portly man with only one arm but a hell of a shot and always calm in rough situations.

"Day dreaming?" Elliot asked, hooking his thumb on the loops of his plants.

"Yeah." Blake muttered. His family always said he should have been a jazz or blues singer. He had the voice for it and when he talked, people listened.

"C'mon," Tony said, "We need to move some of the stores around the precinct."

Blake nodded and followed Elliot and Tony down into the basement of the R.P.D. near the parking garage and access tunnels. Tony swiped his keycard on the armored door and the trio stepped inside.

"Big man, you grab those cases there. Elliot, think you can grab the stuff there without having a heart attack?" Tony sneered.

Elliot only laughed as he managed two of the cases of ammunition under each arm. Tony grabbed a few of the cartridge cases and Blake grabbed a few himself.

"Big man, grab one of those nice Eagles off the wall there." Tony said.

"Why?" Blake asked.

"Chief said no arms left behind when we're done," Tony said with a smirk, "besides, I want it."

The Eagles were some of the nicer handguns used by the R.P.D. They were just .45 ACP but there was something about how heavy they were and how they looked that made you feel like a badass if you had one.

Blake shrugged and took one of the Eagles off of the wall and handed it to Tony. The officer smiled and he and Elliot left the room leaving Blake alone in the armory. The big man turned towards the rack where the Eagles were kept and took one, slipping it inside of his vest. He had his Browning and preferred it but he felt like maybe having something a bit bigger would help him feel better.

Before leaving, he glanced back and saw one of the lockers ajar. Peeking inside, he saw it. The other officers just called it a machine gun, but in reality it was just a machine pistol, a MAC-10 to be exact, evident by the much longer barrel. Blake sucked on his teeth for a moment and shut the locker, leaving the armory.

Tony and Elliot were outside waiting for him.

"Is that it?" Tony asked.

Blake just nodded quietly.


	3. Ian 1

_**70:00 until viral outbreak**_

He pulled on the tail of the crane and the wings flapped down, making an audible whooshing noise as he did so, accompanied by the sound of the crinkling paper. He pushed on the tail and the wings flipped back to where they were originally. He did this several more times as he stared at the still smoking wreckage of the mansion. The area was crawling with countless scientists, security personnel, and executives.

There were the scientists, gathering samples of what they could find of the B.O.W.s released at the mansion, watching one of them pulling the charred remains of a hunter out from under a chunk of wall. The security personnel, with their big guns and loud dogs, patrolled the area looking for anyone unlucky enough to wander this way or have survived this travesty.

The executives were the ones just milling about talking about figures and losses and damage control.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

Then there was Doctor Ian Taylor. Nobody really was sure what he was doing there or why, but nobody questioned it. He looked important and his stare was unnerving. Always playing with that damn origami crane and looking at things around him like he was asking himself 'what's in it for me'?

He was the kind of person that didn't eat because he liked food. He ate because he'd die if he didn't, which was evident in his gaunt, skinny frame, sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks. His hair was a mop of brown curls on top of his head, but he was clean shaven and no taller than five and a half feet.

He stood by the wreckage of what used to be front of the mansion. Occasionally, scientists would drop a sample and that would attract Ian's baleful stare. The scientist could do nothing but slowly pick up the sample and look away.

One of the scientists came up to Ian a short while later, "Sir"?

Ian slowly looked over, still pushing and pulling on the piece of origami, "Did they find it?"

His voice was just a whisper, but there was something absolutely eerie about it.

"No, sir, but we did discover that there were various other mutations. There's the standard zombie, but also mutated dogs as well. We discovered a mostly intact MA-121 as well," said the scientist.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

"We're looking for the tyrant model," Ian said calmly.

"Yes, I know, sir, but we also have useful data on…"

"How useful is the data, really?" Ian asked, turning slowly towards the other scientist.

"Well, uh…"

"Tell me what data could be gathered here that can't be gathered anywhere else," Ian said slowly.

"The tyrant, sir, but we're almost certain that the tyrant was completely destroyed in the blast."

Ian reached slowly into his lab coat. The two security personnel flanking him looked at each other.

"And do you think that the data of mindless, hungry animals will make up for the loss of the tyrant data?" Ian asked.

"No, sir, but…"

"What do you think the tyrant data is worth?" Ian asked.

"It's priceless, sir, considering it's been the only working tyrant model that was able to produce combat data, but like I said…"

Ian pulled out the Colt .45 from his lab coat and turned it on the scientist and pulled the trigger. Blood and gray matter exploded out of the face and head of the other scientist, his face turning into a mess of macerated flesh. He simply jerked backwards and then crumpled down into the burnt grounds of the mansion. The gunshot caused a murder of crows to erupt from the nearby trees, cawing and screeching loudly. The rest of the sight became eerily quiet as Ian slowly put the Colt back into his lab coat and pulled out a swatch of cloth from his pocket and wiped his face from the spatter that had found itself ejected his way.

"I can only stand so many excuses," Ian said seemingly to himself, the whole while he had been holding the crane origami gingerly in his left hand, careful not to damage the seemingly precious work of art.

The dead scientist was carried away shortly after and work resumed. Ian didn't care what they did with the body. He was in charge here and everyone here was beneath him in every way. He didn't care if there was a thousand intact hunters, a million zombies, or if they found the mutated plant, or anything. None of their data could compare to the data that the tyrant offered.

He couldn't help but feel angry at Wesker and the S.T.A.R.S. members who were able to fight against or witness the tyrant in combat. He continued to play with the origami crane, working its wings up and down.

"I wonder if it was fast?" he asked himself. Of course, nobody responded.

"Did it attack a single time, hoping to kill its prey with a single blow or did it attack multiple times in succession?"

Again, no one responded, but he continued to play with that piece of origami.

"The data suggested in initial testing that the tyrant would evolve enlarged organs and the heart would sit outside of the body. Can you imagine?"

None of the other scientists dared get close to Ian when he talked to himself and after he had gunned down another researcher for simply just offering up what he could.

"Sir!" was the shout from the other end of the complex. "Sir, over here!"

Ian turned and started to work the origami crane faster and faster as his heart hammered in his chest. He was going to be so angry if it was another waste of his time. He was panting, sweating, and almost crying by the time he had reached where the researchers were standing.

Beneath a large bookshelf was a rather large, grotesquely mutated arm with rough, scaly skin covering it, the fingers having become sharp, razor edged claws. Ian bent down to touch one of the claws and drag his finger over it, cutting the tip of his index finger on the still very sharp talon.

"Find the rest of it," Ian said breathless, "Find the rest of it and report back that we have the data ready to create the new working models.


End file.
